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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25018561">Thou Shalt Not Die</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocoholic221B/pseuds/Chocoholic221B'>Chocoholic221B</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hunter X Hunter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Human Experimentation, Immortality, M/M, Unrequited KuroKura, hunterxhunterbigbang2020, hxhbb2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:42:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,852</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25018561</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocoholic221B/pseuds/Chocoholic221B</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>All things must die. Leorio’s work was devoted to postponing it as long as possible, but some things death just didn’t let slide, wasn’t supposed to let slide. His newest patient is beautiful as he is unsettling, with a sharp tongue, a mind stuck in the past, and a talent for evading the one certainty in life. The strange man soon checks himself out of the hospital, mere days after Leorio had mended his wounds, with a level finality that leaves him believing their shaky friendship had come to a close. They meet once more in the local park, and when Leorio offers the man a place in his rundown apartment, he thinks nothing of the consequences. Quietly, attachment plants its seeds, and Leorio finds himself caught in a web that puts everything he’s ever known into question. The involvement of one Chrollo Lucilfer, his old college buddy, now a man entirely devoted to science, throws his life into further disarray, as their lives unravel to reveal some hideous realities.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight, Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer/Kurapika, Leorio Paladiknight &amp; Chrollo Lucilfer, platonic - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Thou Shalt Not Die</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>HELLO! Here is my entry for the HxHBB2020 that I didn't spend enough time on. It still needs some major revisions, but I'm hoping to upload the whole story over the summer. </p>
<p>Anywho, I hope you enjoy my amateur writing! No promises.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Thou Shalt Not Die:</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter One</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Over the last year, Leorio has come to expect things from his workplace. Yes, things. Things like the chemical scent of odorless disinfectants, or the bright rectangles of LED lights nailed across the ceiling, and tidy rooms on either side of him. That, along with back-breaking work schedules and a dwindling sense of reality. Even more so than any of these, he has gotten used to a little voice, crackling through the old headset attached to his ear, sticky with static. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Leorio, we need you in the ER. Patient’s in critical condition. Internal bleeding in the abdomen, broken ribs, lacerations to the face and shoulder. Two women brought them in from the sea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are three options when people are found in the sea: One, there was a murder attempt. Two, they tossed themselves into the sea. Three, it was an accident. Leorio goes with number three because it sounds the least complicated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Getting out of his $300 office chair is like ripping off a bandaid. It’s painful either way, but he’s learned it’s better to snap out of it quickly. The neon blue numbers on his desk tell him the time. One in the morning. He’s seen worse days. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be right there, Dr. Yorkshire,” he replies, trying to keep the slow drawl of drowsiness out of his voice as he rubbed the slumber out of his eyes. He hasn’t slept a full eight hours since primary school, so one would think his body would get the message and negate its own need for sleep. Not so, unfortunately. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he’s a surgeon and a doctor . . . a surgical doctor and there’s a life to be saved. Leorio J. Paladiknight is no quitter. He also has no middle name either, but he does have a taste for the dramatic, and if he needs to add a letter to his name then so be it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a new weight to his already raucous footsteps, Leorio makes his way back to the Emergency Department. It’s a good ten minutes away from his office. Their town is minuscule but evidently is prey to a high number of the injured and sick, so their hospital responded by being the same size as a hospital in the inner city. That’s not normal. Maybe he’ll call Chrollo to investigate. Then again, Chrollo’s been so busy with research lately that he barely has any time left for his old college buddy. His sleep schedule must be even worse than Leorio’s. Poor guy’s gonna be dying from cardiac arrest before thirty. And then there’s his sugar addiction (which he’s still failed to acknowledge).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A bubbly tune fills the elevator, a sleek box of metal and plastic, and it has no relation to how his foot taps against the wooden flooring. Leorio hates waiting, hates uncertainty, especially when he’s stuck in the box of periodical deaths with a dying patient on the other side of the building.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh please, the rate of elevator accidents is like, .2%.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That number definitely wasn’t right. Leorio’s hand swiped right on his phone screen, and after a quick banter with Siri, he got a more credible answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>17000 people are injured every year.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hates the Internet too. This much information at his fingertips is bad for his mental health.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re highly unlikely to die in an elevator,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” the automated voice says, tone dipped in a glimmer of personality.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up, Siri.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That is highly offensive.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your voice is highly offensive.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Leorio,” Cheadle’s voice crackles through his earpiece once more, “what’s taking so long?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His laugh comes out high-pitched. People are gonna start thinking he regularly argues with machines (which he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does not</span>
  </em>
  <span>). “Sorry, boss. I’ll be right there. I was back at my office.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The elevator doors slid apart with the sound of a computerized bell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spare me your excuses,” Cheadle grumbled through the earpiece, “just get down here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ah, Cheadle’s pissed. That’s rare. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leorio hurries past hallways full of nurses and doctors in pastel blues and cream whites, and patients on black stretchers. A few tease him along the way, acting as if he’s always late to important operations. Which is fucking wrong, okay? Leorio is very selective about the things he is late to. Board meetings, staff meetings, high school reunions, those parent-teacher conferences he goes to for Gon’s sake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not once in his entire career has he been a second late to a surgery. Granted, his career is still in its infancy, but hell, he’ll hold onto his record for as long as possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With the power of long legs and morning jogs, he gets to the sanitation area in a mere six minutes. As he passes by, Cheadle gives him a glance of acknowledgment. She’s working on a different patient. Heart attack from the looks of it, and struggling to stay afloat. No wonder she was so irate earlier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, where lies his sleeping beauty?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dr. Paladiknight,” a nurse calls from the bedside of a bleeding body. A handful of others were looming over the body as well, keeping watch over it, tending to it. Green spikes illuminate the heart rate monitor. For a trauma victim, they’re holding on exceedingly well. Leorio’s eyes scan the body slowly, weighing the damages. They’d stopped the bleeding in the arm and chest wounds, but they still needed to suture it up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another nurse appears beside him with a piece of paper. “Their internal bleeding seems to have stopped on its own.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously?” He slips on his gloves and gives his co-workers an order for a mattress suture. They’ll start with the lacerations, and continue monitoring the rest of their injuries. It isn’t that internal bleeding can’t come to a stop on its own, because that’s usually the course for things, but Cheadle had clearly noted that it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>major, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she knows the risks of misdiagnosing a patient. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, how about we fix you up then, Mysterious Unnamed Individual. We’ll focus on the lacerations first,” he says, cleaning the wound once more, prepping the area for the suture. They hand him a needle and thread and forceps, and Leorio begins to drive the needle through the skin, then out the opposing side. It’s a simple procedure, which is fortunate because Leorio has a cat to feed back home. Colonel Butterscotch is an independent kitten but she still needs his love and attention deep down. Deep, deep down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once one suture’s complete, he moves onto the next area of damage. It’s deeper, certainly, but a part of him thinks the edges have grown closer in the last few minutes. He finishes, an unshakeable feeling lying in his gut. Something’s missing? There must be something else wrong? But there isn’t, none that could be seen with the naked eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s take another peek at his internal injuries,” Leorio says, as he ties up the last suture. “I want to make sure it’s really healing up on its own.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They nod. That’s right. Doctors actually get respect. Maybe med school was worth it after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And we can move him afterward to his own room. You know what I always say –” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rest is the key to recuperation,” they chant, as if at a recital, and Leorio is proud to have such great listeners for underlings. He’ll just ignore the synchronized eye-rolling for now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His suspicions end up being unfounded, only taking up more of their time and the hospital’s resources, but he’s glad to have taken those measures. Too often do patients end up in critical condition because of a monitoring issue, a glitch in the system. Now all he has to worry about is their eerie healing capabilities. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He yawns. It’s their second night here, and Leorio has taken to calling them Sleeping Beauty, if only because they fit the description to a T. With their injuries healing up, their gentle, rounded features had returned. Hair the color of dull hay in summer days, the type that’s been left to its own devices, tangling up into small clumps here and there. Their face is almost unnaturally symmetrical, growing warmer with a night of rest, the slightest hint of pink filling their cheeks. They’re improving, and rapidly so. It seems their body is used to recovering from fatal injuries. He can’t even imagine what they’ve been through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you watching them sleep?” an indignant voice splutters from behind him. Kanzai appeared, that permanent scowl baring its claws. His orange hair is styled into spikes, highlights of dark brown running throughout it, probably in an attempt to match that stupid jacket he always wears. Ah wait, he shouldn’t make fun of high schoolers. That’s mean. “You old perv. I’m not above punching you until your face is pressed into the floor if that’s what you’re asking for.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m checking up on his wounds, kid,” he replies, keeping his tone even and friendly. “You know, because I’m a doctor, and that’s what doctors do. So, how about you stay in your lane.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tch, whatever.” The boy sits down in one of the three chairs provided near the patient’s bedside. “You think they’re gonna wake up?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know. They took a blow to their head, and head trauma can be hard to manage. But, I’m hopeful,” Leorio says, jotting down a few notes on his clipboard. “Anyway, tell Dr. Yorkshire I’m heading out for tonight. Colonel Butterscotch gets lonely when she’s left alone all day.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please, you and I both know she doesn’t give a damn.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leorio grimaces at the accusation. “Deep down, she does.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Deep down there’s a gaping empty hole,” Kanzai murmurs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You just don’t like her because she bit you that one time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She almost tore off my finger!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A fingernail, maybe! Colonel Butterscotch is gentle!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A fingernail is a lot!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A groan snaps them to attention, and Leorio is at the bedside of his patient in seconds. He recognizes the slight jolt in their body, their head swaying from left to right. And then, slowly, honey lashes flutter, and then close, shutting tight as tears gather in the corners. Perhaps the lighting is a bit too abrasive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where am I?” they ask, and their voice is quiet and hoarse and somehow restrained. Leorio scrambles for the pitcher of water on the nightstand. Red eyes study him. Red, in every sense of the word. They’re rimmed with webs of blood vessels, but beyond that, the irises are a vibrant scarlet, the color of rubies in the sun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leorio scoffed internally, as he poured the water into a generic glass. Probably just got a melanin deficiency. It’s just the blood vessels turning them red. There’s always an explanation for this sort of thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s overflowing,” they say, still resting their head on the pillow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leorio replies, dumbly, “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The water is overflowing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He curses under his breath, pulling the pitcher away. It’s too late, a wasteful puddle has formed around the glass, trickling from the rim, marking a steady path toward the edge of the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll go get some towels,” Kanzai sighed, wearily, walking out of the room with his shoulders slumped. That posture’s going to land him at the chiropractor’s someday. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re watching things unfold from underneath their bangs, blank-faced and a bit heavy-eyed. Leorio offers them the glass, which now holds a more reasonable amount of water, and they accept it with steady hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you a doctor?” they ask, putting the glass to their lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leorio instinctively reaches for the ID card hanging around his neck. “Oh, yeah. Name’s Dr. Leorio Paladiknight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In one nearly indiscernible motion, their eyes sweep over him, and then in a voice reeking of judgment, they reply, “Oh . . . I see.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ignores the slight. “Mind if I ask you for your name?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their shoulders slump at the question and they shrink into themselves, head falling forward. “I do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A history, huh? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, we can work our way up to that then,” he says, attempting to be cheeky. They study him, not a hint of good humor in their expression.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How long must I stay here?” Their head settles on the pillow once more. Kanzai struts back inside with several fresh towels, tiny squares of cloth, and Leorio accepts them. He busies himself with cleaning up the spills on the floor and nightstand. Their housekeepers work hard, no need to leave more messes for them to clean up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“With your injuries, I’d recommend at least a week,” Leorio says, handing the wet cloth to an appalled Kanzai and shooing him away. “For monitoring purposes. Then you can be on your way, and feel free to call us if anything seems off.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s nothing to monitor,” they reply, shifting on the bed. At least a bit of soreness should’ve made its way into their muscles by now, but there is no creaking in their joints or stiffness in their body. Tense, maybe, but that looks to be stemming from a more psychological problem. “I’d like to leave as soon as possible.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve got somewhere to be?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their brow furrows into a glare, red eyes squinting at him. Leorio stands his ground. Technically, they aren’t allowed to keep patients at the hospital against their will, but he likes to think of that little detail only applying to outright force. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And if I do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘If’ being the keyword,” Leorio says, sitting back in his uncomfortable wooden chair. “Trust me, kid, nothing’s more important than your health. You’ll understand that someday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> They try glaring at him some more but relent after a few seconds of Leorio staring back. A bitter breath of laughter leaves them. Thin arms cross over their chest and their head twists away. A temper tantrum, huh? “I’m no kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, then how old are you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a brief moment, he only watches as their red irises scramble about as if it’s such a difficult question. “Twenty-three.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The two of them are almost the same age?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Do you have a place to go home to? They said they found you in the sea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I fell in,” they murmur, adding, “on accident.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, hypothesis number three is out of the running. Leorio scratches the back of his neck. He can tell when someone’s carrying baggage, but he’s gotten into trouble for trying to get people to talk before. Whatever, this isn’t his problem. No use in helping people who don’t wanna be helped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He still gives them one last suspicious glare. “Fine, keep your secrets. And if you wanna be discharged, you can ask Cluck. She’s the discharge planner for this unit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d like to speak with her as soon as possible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’ll come around in a few hours,” he says. “What, are you so eager to leave us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Probably eager to never have to see your ugly face again,” Kanzai grumbles as he returns from tossing those dirty towels away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mind screeches in indignance, but before his mouth can catch up, the earpiece speaks to him. “Leorio, we have a case of appendicitis in 312.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So much for going home to make sure his cat is still alive. With a disappointing click of his tongue, he settles on a glare. “Sure thing, Cheadle. I’ll be right there.” There’s a brief spike in the static, and then it’s gone for good. He turns to face Kanzai fully. “This isn’t over, kid. And you!” he points to their patient, who seems a bit surprised at his declaration. “If you do go home, make sure to get plenty of rest, ya hear. Your body is a temple!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Duly noted,” they reply, and that judgment is still thick in their voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leorio scurries out of the room without another word, hurrying to the operating room. There are other patients to attend to, and as he finishes up his last surgery of the day and starts heading home, the young patient slowly drifts out of his mind. The next day, he returns to check on their status, but the room is empty and ready for its next occupant. That’s how it always is. The sheets are spread across the bed, not a single crease marring their surfaces. On the nightstand, there lay only a vase of undying roses and a book. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really were in a hurry, weren’t ya?” he sighs, picking up the book. It’s written in a language he could not understand, but it seems to have something from the Slavonic family. There’s no telling if it had been left there by a staff member, or the patient, but he thought it more likely to be the latter. The employees here aren’t so careless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The buzz of his earpiece sounds again. “Leorio, we’ve got a CABG with Mr. Battera. 308.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, be right there.” He sets the book back down and lets the incident fade away. Most of the time, his patients are a little more grateful to the man who saved their lives, but it isn’t like he went into this business to be bathed in neverending praise. The praise is still nice though. </span>
</p>
<p><strong>. End of Chapter</strong> .</p>
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